The Complete Beginner's Guide to Draco Malfoy
by MrsRMRyan
Summary: Ten years post-Hogwarts, Hermione was sure that Draco Malfoy had fallen off the face of the earth. Frankly, she wasn't too fussed about it. Until, of course, said Draco Malfoy resurfaces 20 minutes from her apartment.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione huffed as she set down a large stack of paperwork, hand delivered by a young intern trembling with excitement at his chance to meet the Minister for Magic. She simply didn't have time for all of this nonsense. It had been ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and amidst the celebrations of peace was a certain wariness that the anniversary would spark a revolution. Hermione had enough on her plate without having to track down former Death Eaters and their children.

"Minister, there's a message from Mr. Weasley for you."

Hermione's secretary, Gabrielle Delacour, popped her head into the Minister's office. She was hired as a favor to Bill and Fleur, and frankly, Hermione preferred the level of trust that extended outside of the workplace.

"Send it in," Hermione sighed. Ron had simply refused to leave her alone since their most recent failed evening out.

After their destined kiss in the middle of the Battle, family and friends had assumed that Ron and Hermione had overcome their adolescent awkwardness and would become the couple everyone figured they would be. However, after four months of loud fights, uncomfortable intimacy, and general impatience, Hermione had called off their relationship in the interest of keeping her best friend from being murdered by her in his sleep.

In the last year or so, Ron had tried desperately to rekindle the low-burning flame that lingered. Though Hermione also felt behind - single with no plans to change that fact at age 27 - she refused to jeopardize their friendship again. And to hell with Harry and Ginny and their two perfect boys, James and Albus.

Hermione, the note read. I was really hoping we'd get a chance to go to dinner this week sometime. I know you're busy at the Ministry and all, but I thought we should celebrate the ten year anniversary of everything. Owl me soon, Ron.

Hermione couldn't help but to roll her eyes. Making a mental note to owl him later on, she resigned herself to her stack of paperwork and reminded herself that she had requested to remain a part of the group of Aurors employed by the Ministry if she accepted the Minister position. She loved her Auror work, and the thought of giving up everything she had worked so hard for to become the Minister was too painful to bear. The Committee had gladly agreed to her request, and thus Hermione was stuck with a huge stack of paperwork delivered by the intern.

"Damn rebels and their damn revolutions," she grumbled, absentmindedly tucking a caramel curl behind her ear.

In the ten years since Hogwarts, Hermione had grown into a rather beautiful young woman. Her hair had settled into gentle waves, she no longer had buck teeth, and her figure had developed into one of near-perfect proportions. Ginny had also taken it upon herself to teach Hermione how to use makeup, and though Hermione rarely felt the need to use that particular skill, it was nice to have. She had been on more than a handful of dates in the past few years, but nothing had ever turned into something serious. She didn't mind, really, but sometimes she longed for a happy marriage with small children; being around Harry and Ginny all the time didn't help that urge. Despite her lack of luck in the dating world, Hermione refused to settle on anyone, including Ron.

Hermione's interest in her work waned, and she felt herself losing focus in the task at hand until a familiar name caught her eye. Draco Malfoy. She hadn't seen or heard the name in several years, and she assumed he had either gone into hiding or was continuing his work for the Death Eaters. Hermione felt a pang of regret for her old schoolmate's path and wished for the thousandth time that she had made more of an effort to help him. Not that it would have worked, given his blood prejudices. But all the same, she couldn't help but care about those who were guided to the dark by their parents and tradition, rather than their own beliefs.

She was surprised to see that he lived in Oxshott, a mere twenty minutes by Muggle transportation from her own home in Chertsey. She had never run into him in six years of living there, but she supposed he would avoid Muggles at all costs. Hermione leaned back in her office chair thoughtfully, her robes twisting uncomfortably around her. She knew Lucius had been sentenced to death for his crimes nine years ago, and she knew Narcissa was still alive. Harry's life had been spared by Narcissa, so the pureblood witch couldn't be all that bad. Draco never carried out his orders to kill Dumbledore, so he wasn't guilty of any crime but sympathy with the Dark cause. It was a shame he grew up in that environment, Hermione thought wryly. He had always been a rather handsome boy.

* * *

Draco paced his bedroom anxiously. He had really done it. There was no turning back now. He had finally submitted his application to be Potions Master for the Ministry and he knew he had to be approved by Granger - damn, the Minister - before he could assume his post. What a sick and twisted circle his life had come to be. The fate of the rest of his life in the dainty, slender hands - DAMN, the weathered and war-hardened hands - of the woman whom he tortured as a child and the woman who was tortured in his drawing room when they were teenagers. Oh, and he was fairly certain he was absolutely infatuated with her as well. There's always that.

Draco slumped on the edge of his bed, his stomach in knots. He knew she was a busy woman, but he had expected to hear something after a few days. Even if it was a resounding "FUCK OFF, FERRET." He also knew he had the experience for the position and wanted it for a great many reasons (see: previous infatuation). Unfortunately, it was common knowledge that Granger could hold a grudge so Draco didn't expect his chances to be very high.

After the war had ended, his father had been sentenced and his mother all but blew up what was left of the Manor, Draco had thrown himself into his one true passion: Potions. He spent the first few years traveling and experimenting with exotic ingredients before settling in the States to complete his mastery. There, no one knew his face or his name or the terrible things he had done for his parents' cause. There, he was free to learn (and be top of his class, thanks ever so) and to develop a rather booming business. He had relocated to Oxshott a few years ago and had continued to lay low. All of his potions were made by him because he didn't trust anyone with his name and reputation and he regularly shipped his potions around the world. The storefront he maintained in the States was manned by other wizards and witches he had befriended during his stay.

Ludicrous though his business may be, Draco was missing something. No pursuit could be valuable enough to repay the community for what he had done and for what he had not done. Most days, Draco felt his life was really not worth the effort he expended on maintaining it, so when the opportunity to work for the Ministry arose, Draco applied without a second thought. He told himself it didn't have anything to do with the youngest Minister for Magic in history who just so happened to be exactly Draco's type.

* * *

Hermione decided to take an early weekend, which for her began at precisely 4:30pm on Friday afternoon. As usual, she filled her beaded bag with her work that had been dropped off by the trembling intern earlier that day. Draco Malfoy was still on her mind. She had taken the briefest glance at the paperwork that had included his name, but still hadn't allowed herself the opportunity to delve deeper into why her old classmate's name was crossing her desk after a decade.

Settling into her couch with her favorite homemade chai latte and wearing her favorite oversized pajamas, Hermione pulled her work out of her bag. A quick flip through a briefing on the next Quidditch World Cup (my god, didn't the last one just happen?), a petition from Ottery St. Catchpole trying to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament (as if the death of Cedric Diggory was a long-forgotten memory), and the most recent policy change on reporting backfiring Muggle objects brought Hermione to the document she sought. She carefully pulled the packet onto her lap, noting the crisp design of the cover page. She did appreciate an eye for detail and straightforward advertising. Hermione assumed Malfoy was seeking a patent for Malfoy Industries (they were still a company, right?) or otherwise complaining about the fact that they let a Muggleborn lead Wizarding Britain. But as she continued to read -

"He wants to be the bloody Potions Master?!"

Hermione huffed in frustration. Of course the little rodent wanted to be Potions Master. Nice cushy job with a fat paycheck and in a field he never particularly struggled in. Or was it the promise of being an insider that Malfoy was so interested in, keen on learning the inner workings of the Ministry as Lucius once did? Hermione snorted into her chai. As if Draco would become as close to her as Lucius had been to Fudge.

Slowly and methodically, Hermione began to work through his application. He had sat for his N.E.W.T.s after going to a private tutor and had achieved nothing less than an E, with an O in Potions, Defense, and Transfiguration.

"Not bad, Malfoy," Hermione mused.

Malfoy was always her strongest competition at Hogwarts and she gave him credit for doing so well with all of the turmoil in his life. She continued to read, finding he had completed his mastery in the States and had built a successful business there where his name wasn't so recognizable. She also read every word of the academic papers he had researched and published on exotic ingredients while traveling. His work was eloquent and engaging, yet succinct and informative. Hermione wished desperately that he had submitted a blind application with his name redacted.

Suddenly realizing how tired she was, Hermione rubbed her eyes and stretched. She had read Malfoy's application straight through dinner and had switched to red wine somewhere around his paper about the combination of bezoars and dittany as an antidepressant. She had to admit that he knew what he was talking about and that, quite frankly, his research was fascinating. Resolving to revisit Malfoy's application on Monday, Hermione scooped Crookshanks up and climbed the stairs to bed.

* * *

Draco lay awake in his four poster bed, decorated in a deep green and black that was reminiscent of his Hogwarts bed as a teenager. It was Friday night and he was home alone in his bed and hadn't done anything remotely fun or interesting to celebrate the weekend. He was far too anxious waiting to hear back from that lovely young woman - DAMN. The MINISTER for MAGIC who was a bloody professional and held his future in her hands. Draco sighed loudly, knowing his anxiety could not force her to make her decision more quickly.

He swung his feet over the side of his bed, being careful not to disturb his chocolate lab Remy laying at the foot, and crossed his room to a small upright piano that had belonged to his grandmother. As a child, she had taught him to play by ear and gifted him the talent of writing his own music. Of course, Draco learned the classics, but he could also play his emotions out on the keys. Creating music helped to calm him when nothing else could. It was comfortable. Safe. He could release his pain, anger, joy through his music, and tonight it was his self-doubt. Uncertainty that he could be accepted back into a community he had once tried so hard to tear down. Uncertainty that the girl he had bullied through school could grow into a woman and overlook old rivalries. Uncertainty that he deserved it.

* * *

Hermione lay awake in her modest bed, decorated with rich burgundies and hints of gold, so reminiscent of her bed in Gryffindor Tower. It was Friday night and she had drank three-quarters of a bottle of red wine by herself, immersed herself in works by a Malfoy, and had done nothing fun worth noting. She tried desperately to sleep but every time she closed her eyes she saw a thin face creased with pain, partially covered by pale blonde hair, and haunted by sad silver eyes.

"Fuck it all," sighed Hermione, giving up at last. "I can ruin weekends too."

* * *

Draco paused in his music. He thought he had heard something like apparition...but no. He lived surrounded by Muggles, and it was nearing 1 in the morning. He jumped as a sharp knock on his door rang through his flat. Tugging a sweater over his head, adjusting his pajama pants, and cautiously grabbing his wand, Draco moved toward the front door. Steeling himself, he flung it open.

"Grange-, I mean, Minister?" Draco spluttered, caught completely off guard. "How do you know where I live?"

Hermione Granger stared at him, mouth half open. Seeming to come to her senses, she brandished his application under his nose. "I believe you applied to be Potions Master, and I'm here to interview you."

Draco opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again. "It's... Minister. It's 1 in the morning on Friday night. Wouldn't it be better to schedule an interview when you have time during the week?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you understand the gravity of you being back in the country, Malfoy. I cannot say for certain how Ministry officials would react if you came strolling into my office Monday morning. I can say, however, two things: One, please refrain from calling me 'Minister'. 'Granger' or 'Hermione' will be fine. Second, you've known me long enough to know I enjoy the pursuit of knowledge."

Hermione stopped speaking and looked down at her feet. Draco raised an eyebrow in question and shuffled his feet, feeling exceptionally uncomfortable with the fact that he answered the door in his pajamas. Hermione's face softened a bit and her voice became gentler as she continued.

"Your work is fascinating, Malfoy. Truly. I knew you did well in Potions, but I had no idea how much potential you had for creating your own potions or for testing new combinations to better serve our world. I realize it's late and if you'd prefer to postpone this meeting to a later time, that's fine. I'm afraid my curiosity simply couldn't wait until Monday."

Draco shook his head numbly. He had seen pictures of Hermione since the war had ended, but he hadn't seen her in person since he was 16. She had certainly grown into herself over the years but her hair remained wild and her face remained defiant and challenging. Draco found comfort in how similar she was to the girl he knew and had idolized since his retreat from Wizarding Britain.

Sighing and rubbing his face with his free hand, Draco opened the door a little wider. "I've known you for far too many years to know that you won't back down without a fight, so come in, Granger. Earl Grey alright with you?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N #1: Thanks so much to all of you who read the first chapter! Right now I'm not sure how long this will go on for, but I'm aiming to post every 7-10 days. I'll be starting back up in grad school in a little over a week but I'm using this as my self-care. Also, mild discussion of why Draco was so interested in creating a wizarding antidepressant in the third section.

* * *

Hermione stepped into Draco's flat and pushed her curls back from her face. She was only very slightly conscious of the fact that she had thrown on the first clothes she could find when she had given up on sleep, but she tugged her sweater down over her leggings anyway. Following Malfoy through a small but tastefully decorated living room, Hermione found herself in the kitchen. She was absolutely focused on examining JUST the cabinets and countertop that happened to be around waist-height for Malfoy, but she couldn't deny that the sleepy chic look was good for him. The biggest improvement was definitely his hair, longer and far more tousled than he would have allowed at Hogwarts. Draco busied himself with making tea, pointedly avoiding eye contact. He cleared his throat, bringing Hermione back to present, and held out a mug with 'I Love NY' printed on the side. "I didn't know if you liked milk or sugar."

Hermione accepted the mug with a slight grin. "I go without, thanks. I guess the States made quite an impression on you, loving New York so much."

Draco gave half a smile in return. "I can't complain. At least it was a fresh start."

Hermione dipped her head, knowing full well that she still harbored the same prejudice for him now that she had when they were schoolmates. A fresh start must have been exactly what he needed to tap into his potential. Draco gestured toward the living room again. "Would you like to sit down?"

Without waiting for a response, Draco turned on his heel and walked into the living room. Hermione followed, clutching her mug for dear life.

"I thought I might change. Pajamas are hardly appropriate for an interview at the Ministry, don't you think Minister?"

Hermione frowned. "I told you, 'Granger' or 'Hermione'. I hate that title. And I've barged into your home at nearly one in the morning, pajamas are perfectly fine."

Draco swallowed. He had been hoping for a moment to slip away and collect himself before she noticed his anxiety. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn't already. From the moment she had walked into his flat, Draco had been sweating and had been fighting a rather violent shake that seemed to afflict his left hand. He certainly hadn't done himself justice when he had pictured Hermione for all those years, and he had half a mind to write the Daily Prophet and request that they hire a more competent photographer because her frequent pictures didn't do her justice either. He set his mug of tea down to avoid giving the tremor away, sat carefully on the couch, and waited for Hermione to continue.

"Why Potions?" she asked abruptly. "I seem to remember you being a rather talented student in many disciplines."

Draco cleared his throat and willed himself to GET a GRIP. This was an interview now, and he needed it to go well. "At the beginning, it was convenience," he said honestly. "I knew I was good at Potions, plain and simple. I also knew that it was a discipline that could be improved upon through little adjustments, as opposed to something that has only one correct answer. It gave me an excuse to travel, to find new ingredients I could occupy my mind with. When it was over, I–" Draco faltered, unsure if he should continue and broach the topic of the war.

Hermione continued staring at him intently, but softened when she recognized his anxiety. "It's okay," she said quietly. "It's not something any of us will ever forget, but it is important to you as a catalyst for pursuing this work. Please, continue."

Draco nodded, appreciative of her encouragement. "I wanted something to challenge me, something that I could attach my name to and would give me a solid opportunity to revitalize what my family represents. I was so close to giving up when I made my first big discovery about bezoars and dittany. I tried it on myself first, to see if it would work."

He trailed off, realizing how personal his answer had become. Hermione only nodded and made a small note on the corner of his file. Draco shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"Why the Ministry? I'm sure your business is quite successful," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Of course, I haven't had the chance to check into it, but I assume that someone with your knowledge and expertise would be able to cobble together a decent business plan and some marketing techniques. Why give that up to work for paper-pushing bureaucrats?"

Draco smirked. "Are you not also a paper-pushing bureaucrat? You are the Minister, after all."

"I retained my Auror status upon my promotion," Hermione said, sniffing. "I wasn't about to lose out on all the action just because I got a pay raise."

Draco's smirk widened into a smile. "I assumed you hadn't had any action for the last nine years, Granger. You and Weasley lasted about six months if I'm not mistaken."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Draco wished he could sink into the floor. _Brilliant, you bloody idiot. You're interviewing for a high-profile job and you just made a sexual innuendo and gave away that you've been stalking her love life for ten years. Excellent move._ Draco refused to look up from the floor, but he assumed that Granger had simply perfected silent Disapparation and that she had left. A small cough let him know he was woefully incorrect.

"Four months," she said. "We lasted four months. I dated one Muggle and one wizard after the fact, and have resigned myself to the first Cat Lady Minister for Magic. Though," she added as an afterthought, "Ron has been making himself quite available in the last year, but I'm afraid that getting dinner with an old flame isn't quite enough _action_ for me."

Hermione smiled devilishly; Draco's ears turned pink.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, as if nothing had happened, "if you would answer my question, Mr. Malfoy."

"Right, uh," Draco stammered. How uncool could he possibly be?

"Right, so, I'm interested in the Ministry because I think I could be a valuable asset and I'd like to expand my knowledge of Potions in conjunction with St. Mungo's. I considered studying for a Healer position, but I figured most people wouldn't be thrilled to see my face around a hospital. This way, I'd be in a relatively faceless position where someone had to trust me enough to give me a job but I can continue my educational pursuits in my downtime."

Draco swallowed again, trying desperately to ignore the incredibly tight pants Granger wore as she stood and began stacking her papers. On instinct, she tugged her sweater down again and looked at him.

"I'll send an owl on Monday with an appointment request," she said. "See to it that you respond, and I will ensure that your visit will go unnoticed. The younger ones are always so starstruck when they meet the big names from before."

Rolling her eyes and cracking a grin, Hermione held out her hand. Draco jumped off the couch and shook her hand gently. Hermione turned and headed for the door.

"Thank you."

She stopped and turned around. "For?"

Draco looked at the floor. "For giving me a chance. For somehow being able to overlook my past enough to listen and to take the time to follow up when my name crossed your desk."

Hermione smiled again and took a few steps back toward him. Draco's heart rate spiked, despite knowing she wouldn't make a move. "We aren't children anymore, Draco. If you're the best man for the job, I'll see to it that you get your share of the _action_."

Laughing at the expression on his face, Hermione headed for the door again and slipped out, shutting it softly behind her. Draco sank into a chair and willed his heart to slow down.

"I am absolutely, unequivocally fucked."

* * *

Hermione apparated home and climbed straight into bed, her curiosity satiated for the time being. In all honesty, Malfoy seemed exceptionally normal. She had paid close attention to his body language, the words he chose to use, his hospitality, and even the layout of his home. She knew that if he was interested in hiding something, he likely would have slipped up during the interview or he would have been hesitant to invite her into such a personal space. It helped that he had grown even more attractive since their school days… or not. She was a professional looking to hire another qualified professional for a high profile position, not someone with a dry spell longer than the Sahara looking for an oasis.

"You know," Hermione said conversationally to Crookshanks, "I could always not hire him. Then maybe I won't lose my job for gross misconduct."

Crookshanks eyed her with disdain, though it was more than likely at being disturbed from his sleep than a judgment call on Hermione's taste in men. Hermione snuggled deeper into the covers and drifted off into peaceful dreams that starred a tall blonde man with a lovely smile.

Draco woke on Saturday just as astonished as he had gone to bed the night before, his head swimming with dreams of a particular brunette. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and replaying the previous evening's events before Remy nudged him impatiently. Draco looked at his chocolate lab, grateful for such a devoted companion but also decidedly not interested in braving the cold to take him for his daily walk.

"Can't you let me pine over a woman in peace?"

Remy stared, put his ears back, and thumped his tail once on the bed.

"I'll take that as a no."

Draco busied himself by getting ready for his day, treating himself to a soothing shower and a well-balanced breakfast of toast and Earl Grey. He knew how to cook since he hadn't had a house elf in nearing eleven years, but today his thoughts were elsewhere. Hermione Granger had been in his flat last night. She sat in his living room, drinking out of his mug, carrying on a conversation with him as though the previous twenty-seven years hadn't happened. Well, except for the part where they knew each other. Of course she was fierce with him, but had he expected anything less? She had socked him in the nose at 13 years old to defend her friends; it only followed that she would be protective of her career that she had worked so hard to earn.

Draco knew, deep down, that he was more than adequate for the job. He poured his heart into his work. It was hard not to when everything else had been stripped away from him (and _yes_, he knew he had a hand in his own life's destruction). Perfecting the combination of bezoars and dittany had, quite literally, saved his life. Draco very nearly let that slip to Hermione the night before, but he was reluctant to experience her reaction. She would have pitied him for hitting such a low point or regretted that he hadn't offed himself and done them all a favor. Draco knew that he was not the only one who suffered in the aftermath of the war and it had only seemed logical that he try to correct some of the damage he had inflicted. However, he wasn't always convinced that he had deserved saving, even at the hands of himself. These insecurities were those that bled out on the piano keys in the middle of the night, when Draco's nightmares and self-loathing overtook him.

As if on cue, Remy howled, jolting Draco out of the darkest corners of his mind. Cracking a smile, Draco made his way to the door while dodging Remy's tail. Together they headed for the Muggle dog park, basking in the sun that hadn't peeked through in weeks. Draco couldn't help but believe it was a sign.

* * *

Hermione went about the rest of her weekend in a bit of a daze. She was always a workaholic, as her friends were so fond of telling her, but this weekend was different. She was completely and utterly drowning in Draco Malfoy, though she wasn't getting any _action_. All she was getting was a headache, and she was pretty sure that had come from the Bellini she had downed at brunch that morning with Ginny.

"Hello, earth to Granger," Ginny said loudly, waving her hand in front of Hermione's face.

Hermione jumped. "I'm sorry, I'm here."

Ginny snorted, dislodging some of the "everything" on her everything bagel. "I haven't seen you this preoccupied since you first submitted your application to be Minister. What's going on with you?"

"It's just a work thing," Hermione mumbled quickly. "A bit stressful but nothing I can't handle."

"Harry mentioned they've been cracking down on former Death Eaters lately," Ginny commented. "Something to do with the ten year anniversary of the war."

Hermione nodded, keeping her eyes trained on the half-eaten plate of eggs Benedict in front of her. "It's been a discussion of course. Plenty of them weren't officially charged and dispersed into lesser known communities."

Ginny slapped her hand flat on the table, making Hermione jump again. "Are you sure this isn't because of my dimwitted brother?"

Hermione looked up for _that_. "Ron? No, why would it be?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Hermione, I know he owled you last week about getting dinner. And," Ginny continued, triumphantly holding a finger in Hermione's face. "I know damn well you didn't respond to him."

"Well, no, I –"

"Come on, Hermione. Do us all a favor and let the guy down. You can let him down hard if you have to, but end the misery and make sure he knows it's really over. Look," Ginny said, more gently this time. "I know it's been rough for the two of you. It lasted, what, six months?"

"Four," Hermione sighed.

"Four then. But it was a decade ago. You've both grown up and your lives have taken you in different places. You're comfortable for each other. Let him down and take a leap toward ambition and adventure and everything you're afraid of. And, most importantly, I never spoke to you about any of this."

Hermione nodded and silently willed herself to stop imagining all of the ambition and adventurous nature it took to travel the world learning about Potions.

* * *

A/N #2: Hope I've continued it well and continued to pique your interest! Thanks to and for reviewing my first-ever publicly posted writing!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N #1: Thank you so much for all of the views and for those of you who reviewed! I'm definitely wayyyy past my self-imposed deadline, but this week I'm going to blame it on my new kitten my fiancé and I adopted in January for my birthday. He's adorable but extremely busy, so he's been taking a lot of my time. Also went back for my last semester of graduate school… And evidently the world is ending too. Thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoy, and please stay safe out there!

* * *

At seven minutes after 5 on Monday morning, Draco was wide awake, showered, dressed in his best suit, and absently chewing a piece of dry toast. He couldn't bring himself to eat anything beyond that due to extreme nerves. The tremor in his left hand had come back since he had woken up that morning and he didn't want to be delayed by anything when he received Granger's owl. If. IF he received Granger's owl.

Draco had spent Sunday doing everything he could possibly imagine to distract himself from the fact that he needed to wait an entire day before potentially hearing anything about a more formal interview at the Ministry. He cooked an enormous breakfast, tried his hand at traditional Thai cuisine for lunch (why anyone ate peanuts as anything besides peanut butter or plain was beyond him), and made an entire roast for dinner. Remy ate most of that. He took Remy out for three separate jogs, cleaned his house top to bottom, went out to stock up on supplies for the week in Muggle Oxshott, and wrote two and a half new piano pieces. The minutes in between were spent trying to ignore the curly brown hair and amber eyes that kept flashing across his conscious. He had finally forced himself to get some sleep, but made sure he didn't oversleep for Monday.

Draco slumped forward onto the kitchen table. There was no possible way Granger would be at work so early, especially on a Monday. He willed himself to take deep breaths and ground himself, techniques he learned in Muggle therapy in the States. Mid-experimentation with bezoars and dittany, Draco had sought out Muggle therapy as a last-ditch effort to stabilize himself enough to be successful in his pursuits. He knew he was declining and had decided that Muggle therapy couldn't possibly be more detrimental to him than doing nothing at all. He still kept in touch with his therapist Cassie, who happened to be a Squib and could proficiently soothe his worries and adjust her practice to suit Draco's needs.

Placing his hands flat on the table and spreading his fingers wide, Draco breathed in and counted to four. Held for seven. Exhaled for eight. Remy's tail beat a steady rhythm on the chair legs to prevent Draco from counting too quickly and allowing himself to tip back over the edge. Four. Seven. Eight. A thin sheen of sweat developed across Draco's temples and began to soak into his pale blonde hair. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, begging his thoughts to slow down. Four. Seven. Eight. Draco's mind jumped from Granger to potions to Cassie to writing a potions paper to interviews to sunshine turning into a thunderstorm. Four. Seven. Eig-CRASH.

Draco jumped to his feet, tripping over Remy and sprawling across his kitchen floor. Swearing, he righted himself and made eye contact with the smallest tawny owl he'd ever seen. The owl hopped forward on one leg, brandishing a letter with tight script in a violent shade of purple. Draco held a hand out to coax the owl to come closer and untied the letter from its leg. He slid a thumb under the edge of the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of parchment, inked with the same violent shade of purple.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I apologize for the hour of my letter – I like to get an early start._

Draco snorted. Of course she liked to get an early start, but he didn't expect that she'd be in the office by 5:30 in the morning.

_If convenient for you, I have time available to meet this morning any time until 9:30 and then again at 4 this afternoon. Please let me know when to expect your arrival so that I can allow you access to my personal Floo. I will also ensure that the younger crowd we discussed Friday evening is kept at bay for your privacy and comfort. _

_Looking forward to our formal interview._

_H.G._

Draco dashed across the kitchen and yanked open a drawer in search of a quill and some ink. Rummaging for a second, he was successful and able to calm his shaking hands to scrawl a reply.

_Granger,_

_I can be there by 6:30 this morning._

_Yours,_

_D.M._

* * *

Hermione drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently. She had just sent her owl Iliana to Malfoy's flat with an interview request. She hoped he'd be awake already, but also presumed that she was the only one in all of Wizarding Britain who was enough of a workaholic to be functional and ready for her day at such an early hour. She should have held off sending Iliana until a more reasonable time that wouldn't potentially wake Malfoy, but she was having difficulties shoving the blond out of her head.

The rest of her weekend had been spent resolutely ignoring what Ginny had to say about letting Ron down and moving forward with someone who could satiate the adventure and ambition she craved. Unfortunately, Hermione knew she would be hard-pressed to find someone who she trusted enough to try all of the daring things that absolutely terrified her. She had owled Ron, making excuses about her lack of availability and hoped it would be enough to keep him at bay until she gathered the courage to finally end it. As much as she valued his friendship and the support he always gave her, Hermione knew that Ron was not the right or best romantic partner for her. She needed someone with some fire.

Iliana swooped back in the open window, bringing the brisk autumn chill of October with her. She landed gracefully on the corner of Hermione's desk and held her leg out for Hermione to detach Malfoy's reply. Hermione read through it quickly, pausing on his signature. _Yours, D. M._ She hadn't signed a closing salutation in her original message, and now he's calling himself hers? Bold little ferret. But still, how personal should she be with him? Granted, she had known the prat for sixteen years but she couldn't reconcile a kind, polite, friendly Malfoy with the hostile and entitled child she had grown up with.

Hermione set his response aside and stood to adjust her Floo to allow for Malfoy's access. She didn't bother to ward the office because she knew that Gabrielle and her coworkers wouldn't be in for at least another hour and a half. Hermione certainly hoped that Malfoy would not be in her office for that long. She resumed her position at her desk and organized her paperwork in preparation for Malfoy's arrival. Somewhere in her whirlwind of a daydreaming weekend she had scraped together some professional interview questions that she hoped would set Malfoy up to do well. And while the indecent thoughts related to seeing him wear a tailored suit to work every day for the foreseeable future was certainly palatable, she truly wanted to believe that he could change and be a successful part of the Ministry.

A soft whoosh announced the arrival of a tall, slender blonde man in a navy suit. Hermione gripped the edge of her desk to ensure she stayed upright. If being a pureblood was good for anything, it was style. Draco clambered out of the fireplace and brushed his suit coat flat before carefully arranging his hair. His eyes found Hermione and he allowed himself a small smile.

"Good morning," he said softly. "Thank you again for agreeing to formally interview me."

Hermione swallowed, attempting to compose herself.

"Of course, Mal- Mr. Malfoy," she corrected. "I thought in the interest of being fair and impartial, I would refer to you the way I would any other candidate for the position. Think we can manage with that?"

Draco grinned. "That works fine, Minister, thank you."

Hermione scowled at the use of her title.

"Well, then," she started. "I think it's best if we skip the background we gathered in other settings and move onto the questions I have prepared for you. What do you consider to be your biggest weakness?"

Draco pondered her for a moment before answering. "My independence," he said honestly. "I prefer to work alone and while I am able to collaborate with others, I enjoy doing things by myself and without the pressure of adapting my work style to suit the needs of others. I know I can get the job done, and done well."

Draco leaned back slightly in his chair, far more comfortable than when he had been pacing in front of the Floo for twenty minutes before leaving his home. If her interview questions were going to be this straightforward –

"And Mr. Malfoy, could you please describe yourself in a few words as you believe others perceive you? I would also like to request that you refrain from using your house traits in this description."

"Well, uh," Draco stammered. _How was he supposed to come up with adjectives for himself without using his Slytherin traits? He'd been relying on those for the last sixteen years!_

"I think my friends would consider me to be, uh, hard-working and determined. They know that I'm dependable and that they can count on me whenever they need me. They say that I'm passionate about what I believe in and loyal to a fault."

Hermione snickered quietly, attempting and failing to cover her smirk.

"What's so funny?" Draco demanded.

"Your adjectives make you sound like a bloody Hufflepuff," Hermione explained, laughing outwardly now.

"That damned hat almost put me in Hufflepuff," Draco muttered under his breath.

Hermione's eyes flew open in shock. She paused for a moment, staring at him intently. Draco waited for her reaction, sure he'd be thrown out of the interview.

"You know," Hermione mused, seemingly lost in thought. "I can see it."

Draco snorted. "We've never had anyone other than a Slytherin in the Malfoy family."

Hermione very nearly didn't even hear him. She was too busy imagining what a Hufflepuff Malfoy would be like. A Malfoy with a healthy glow and permanently pink cheeks and longer, tousled hair like that of his adulthood. A Malfoy with a yellow and black scarf tied around his neck, laughing as he ran through the courtyard with a large group of Hufflepuff friends. A Malfoy who excelled at Herbology and spent his spare time with Hagrid learning about magical creatures. A Malfoy who could have been her friend.

"Granger?"

Hermione refocused, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry. Your descriptions were thought-provoking for me."

It was Draco's turn to smirk. For once since their reconnection, Hermione was the flustered one and Draco reveled in it. She had a slight hint of embarrassment, but he could only tell through the rosy tint creeping up her neck and her determination to avoid his gaze. She leaned forward and wrote down a few words on the parchment in front of her, but the only one he could read was _passionate_, underlined three times. Draco wasn't sure he wanted to know what that was about.

Hermione consulted her notes again before plowing on, resolutely ignoring her flushed cheeks. "Finally, Mr. Malfoy, if you could share with me what you would choose to pursue if money and time were of no object and you knew you could not fail."

Damn. Sock it right to him, why doesn't she?

"Do you want the interview answer, Minister, or the honest one?" Draco knew he only had one answer, but he wanted to gauge Hermione's willingness to hear something from his heart.

"I would like the answer you feel most comfortable sharing with me," Hermione decided, relaxing her posture a little. In all honesty, she _was_ grilling him quite a bit and she was impressed with his openness to her prying.

Draco slid himself back further in his chair and tugged his pant legs down closer to his ankles. He felt an ominous swoop low in his stomach as he steeled himself to bare his soul to this intimidating, powerful young woman. Draco also fought very hard to shove aside the aggressive horde of butterflies that had taken up residence somewhere in his chest.

"I want to help people. I want to use the little knowledge and skills I have to make it so that no one else has to face their own mind the way I did."

Draco held up a hand in admission.

"I'm not saying I didn't deserve a little discomfort for what I willingly participated in and unwillingly participated in because of my own cowardice, but getting to know the deepest, darkest corners of your mind is not something I would wish on anyone."

Draco sighed, still firmly keeping his gaze on the floor. "If I can make it so one less person experiences what I had to experience, it will all be worth it. The stares, the nasty comments, the hiding in a Muggle suburb to keep myself as tucked away as possible. All of it."

Draco didn't dare lift his head and braced himself for Granger's response. It wasn't until he heard a small sniff that he forced himself to meet her amber eyes… that were slightly more shiny than usual? Was Granger tearing up?

"Granger, are you alright?"

Hermione sniffed discretely. "That is all very admirable of you, Mr. Malfoy. I appreciate your willingness to share. I-"

She trailed off, and Draco leaned forward in encouragement. "I know where you're coming from. I don't much care for the corners of my mind either, so your determination to prevent that from happening to others is inspiring for me."

Draco was sure he levitated off his chair at those words. _Not two days ago I made a sexual innuendo in front of her while in my living room and wearing pajama pants, and today I'm inspiring? Today is shaping up beautifully_.

_He wants to use his brains for good? Look at all that ambition pent up in there, waiting to be released! Ginny may be on to something…_

"So," Hermione said, shuffling her papers together and trying to regain composure. "I think this interview went extremely well, and if it's quite alright with you, I'll prepare a formal offer for your review and send it over within a week."

Draco's pureblood manners went screaming out the window into the autumn breeze as his mouth fell open in shock.

"You're, you're," he stuttered. "You're offering me the job?"

A small smile appeared on Hermione's lips. "I am. Welcome to the team, if you'll accept."

An infinitesimal part of Draco's mind reminded him that vaulting over his new boss's desk and accepting his new position with a rather heated kiss was not at all appropriate, so Draco settled for standing and offering his hand.

"I'd truly love nothing more."

"Excellent! As I said, I'll get a formal offer together and send it over, but if you can start – "

BANG.

Hermione and Draco leapt apart, wands drawn and faces pink, as though they were fifth years being caught in a broom cupboard by a prefect. Standing in the now open doorway was Gabrielle Delacour, now drenched in Earl Grey and standing in a pile of shattered china.

"I am so sorry! I did not expect you to be here so soon, I was only trying to start you off on the right foot for the week," Gabrielle cried.

"But who is this? Is that Malf-"

Hermione bustled over to the door, eyeing Draco and gesturing toward the Floo with her chin. "Allow me to clean this up, Gabrielle, and we should check that you didn't hurt yourself dropping that teacup. My guest will take his leave and await my owl."

Still frozen in place, Draco jolted back to life and scrambled toward the Floo. Hermione sent him an apologetic look before dragging Gabrielle out the door.

So much for prying eyes.

* * *

A/N #2: Thanks for reading! Again, I apologize for the huge hiatus but I'm hoping this quarantine gets me in the mood to write more. The goal is another chapter this week… I'm in the States and it's hitting us hard here. I'm nervous for the people who live in my house because we all have immune system issues or chronic health conditions, so we're all taking as many precautions as we can. Wherever you are in the world, stay safe, stay healthy, and be as happy as you can during this crazy pandemic we're living in.


	4. Chapter 4

The second Draco was coughed out of the Floo into his living room, he tripped over Remy, went sprawling across the loveseat, landed square on his arse, and broke into the biggest smile he'd allowed himself since his first day at Hogwarts. _Hermione Granger _had offered him a job. Him. Former Death Eater status, permanent prat extraordinaire, and tangled ball of stomach-twisting, knee-caving anxiety aside. He was going to be working at the Ministry of Magic as the Potions Master with _the_ Hermione Granger as his _boss_.

A small, slightly troubling thought approached the edge of his mind and tapped gently to get his attention. He got the job he thought he'd never have a chance this side of the Atlantic getting. However, Draco had conveniently forgotten that he was Merlin's fucking pointy hat over dragonhide boots for Hermione Granger. His boss. Who he had to refrain from flirting with or making a pass at or coming across as too friendly too soon.

Draco's smile slowly faded to normal proportions, because dammit, he was still proud of himself for earning his spot. Even if that meant he had to stamp out any salacious feelings he harbored for Granger. And he knew Lucius would be proud of him too, if he had any way to contact his father within Azkaban and tell him of his accomplishments. He wasn't even sure his mother was on the continent anymore. So Draco settled for telling his closest friend in the world, Theo Nott.

"It's fine. All fine," Draco reassured himself. "I can definitely handle working with Granger. I'll just pretend she's Pansy or someone equally off-putting."

Remy howled in disagreement.

"I'm not fucked, this was a great decision."

* * *

"You are absolutely, completely fucked, and this was a terrible decision."

Draco groaned and slid down in his chair. Theo stood across from him, arms folded.

"I mean, congratulations mate, Potions Master is a bloody good title. But Granger as your boss? I can't even articulate all of the ways this is the Worst Idea Ever. You've been in love with her for how long?"

"Too long," Draco moaned, his voice muffled by his arms currently thrown over his face.

Theo grimaced. "Look, mate, you can always back out. Or, OR," Theo quickly changed his course at the venomous look on Draco's face, holding his palms up in surrender.

"OR you can just keep to yourself as much as possible. You're going to be head of a department, so obviously Granger thinks you're competent enough. I bet you won't even have to report to her that often."

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, brilliant idea, Theo. 'Morning, Granger, thanks ever so for this lofty title with a fat paycheck and the ability to do what I love every single day, but don't be checking up on the old Death Eater, he can handle it just fine on his own.' Yes, bloody fantastic, that's a foolproof plan."

"You won't be doing what you love every day because Granger certainly isn't going to let you into her knickers yet," Theo sniggered. "HEY."

Draco had lunged across the sofa and whacked Theo upside the head with a pillow.

"If you so much as _think_ about breathing a word of what you just said to anyone other than me or your stuffed hippogriff, you're a dead man."

"I take issue with the stuffed hippogriff remark, but plowing on. What do you have to lose, mate? She's single, she's an absolute genius, and she doesn't completely hate you. Worth a shot in my book," Theo shrugged. "I'd go for it if I were you."

"You'd go for her even if you weren't me," Draco muttered. "Not a secret how much you love anything with a rack."

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Listen, Mr. I'm-Too-Afraid-Of-My-Own-Shadow-To-Get-A-Date, I'll have you know that you could take some pointers from me. Just take it slow. Be you: the sappy, romantic, head-over-heels softie I know you are. Take notice of the little things, and make sure she knows you know about them."

* * *

"Let me see your hand, Gabrielle. I want to make sure you didn't hurt yourself dropping that teacup."

Hermione led Gabrielle out into the Minister's waiting room and sat down with her on one of the large, squashy leather sofas. Dutifully, Gabrielle extended her hands to reveal a small scratch on her left palm. Taking Gabrielle's hand gently in her own, Hermione waved her wand across the wound.

"_Sanitatem vulnus._"

Hermione made eye contact with Gabrielle for the first time since she had crashed through the door and laid eyes upon Draco Malfoy. Gabrielle's eyes were wide, presumably with fear and confusion. Hermione would have been astonished herself if she had used a Time Turner into the future and stumbled across the same scene of an amicable conversation between herself and the Ferret.

"Gabrielle, do you remember what I said to you when you first began working here?"

"You said that being discreet was of the utmost importance and that if I had any concerns about anything that happened in your office, to speak to you directly."

"Excellent," Hermione sighed. "I am not at all ashamed of the fact that Mr. Malfoy was in my office this morning, and I suppose I should forewarn you that you will be seeing much more of him in the fut-"

Gabrielle gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. "You are seeing him? Hermione- Minister! How could you? Do you know what he has done to Bill and his family?"

Hermione waved her hand frantically at Gabrielle. "Keep your voice down! Mr. Malfoy and I have a purely business relationship. He was interviewing for a job at the Ministry that I am in charge of hiring for, and I offered it to him. It has been ten years since the war, Gabrielle, and what good are we if we cannot learn to forgive those who have wronged us? He and I will speak again over the next few days and organize a press release. Until then, I expect you to refrain from speaking about it."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into a thin line that aged her far beyond her twenty-one years. "Do you expect me to keep it from my family?"

Grimacing, Hermione replied with extreme patience. "I would appreciate your discretion for the time being, yes, Gabrielle. Unfortunately, paper-pushing bureaucracy requires a great deal of secrecy and careful guarding of information."

Gabrielle stood and flounced out of the room, her long blonde hair swinging furiously behind her. Hermione stood, smoothed her pencil skirt, and walked back into her office. Glancing at the clock on her desk, she opened a drawer and pulled out a miniature bottle of Firewhiskey.

"For that, I deserve a bloody sainthood."

* * *

After Theo left, Draco busied himself with getting himself in order for his new career. He started with his closet first, rifling through all of his suits and robes to pull the nicest sets to the front. Draco had known that wearing a suit to his interview would be appropriate because of Hermione's background, but he wasn't entirely sure how the rest of the Ministry operated after the second war. Back when he would follow Lucius through the Ministry, everyone wore robes with various color designations for departments. He made a mental note to ask Hermione at their next meeting.

Draco then moved to the garden behind his flat. He shared a two-story home with an older Muggle woman and had free reign of the second floor. Mrs. Phillips also allowed him use of the garden, provided he helped with the lawn and odd jobs around the house. At present, the garden only had a low retaining wall of stone around the edges, with a bit of grass, a small patch for vegetables, and a large willow tree with a bench swing.

"_Quibus_."

A slight shimmer surrounded the edge of the garden, warding an invisible fence into place so Draco could let Remy have the run of the place while he was at work. Remy stuck close to Draco's heels, always making sure his master was safe and grounded. Draco crouched down and cupped Remy's large brown head between his hands.

"Alright listen, Dad's not going to be home all the time anymore, okay? No, don't look at me like that. I promise it's a good job, don't listen to Uncle Theo. This will make me happy, but I'll be just as happy to come home to you, bud. But now you can be outside if you want to be, without supervision."

Remy eyed him gloomily, letting out a small huff. His tail wagged slightly before he laid down at Draco's feet. He trusted Draco to be safe and to know his limits, but Remy also knew he could pick up the pieces if Draco pushed himself too far. Draco ruffled his ears and stood, just in time to be hit in the head by Hermione's ridiculously small owl bearing a letter in Hermione's apparently signature violent purple ink.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_First, I would like to apologize for the interruption this morning. I do not apologize often, so do not take this lightly. I did not expect the interruption from my staff so early in the morning, and I was careless in not safeguarding our meeting appropriately. I hope you are not deterred from moving forward with this position as planned._

_Attached is your official salary and benefits package, including four weeks of paid holiday leave to be used at your discretion. There is also the matter of your team; there are a few people remaining in the department, but you will be able to select the rest of your team and you will be expected to manage them. _

_Should you need more clarification or reassurance, please feel free to owl me back or to drop in my home via Floo. I am generally home by 8 in the evening, and I feel it is only fair after my arrival on your doorstep._

_Yours,_

_H. Granger_

Well. Draco didn't have to be a Ravenclaw to know that he shouldn't pass up an opportunity to spend additional time with Hermione. Perhaps Theo had a small moment of brilliance before. Not that Draco would ever _dream_ of sharing that tidbit with that prat. Theo would be at risk of faceplanting from his enormous head.

* * *

Having finished her Firewhiskey, written to Malfoy, and eaten a quick lunch of takeaway Thai, Hermione tucked herself back into her work for the afternoon and evening. Gabrielle had glared daggers at her every time she dared to leave her office, and Hermione had reached her limit. She locked her office, kicked off her sensible but uncomfortable pumps, and put her feet up on the desk. Just as she forced herself to tackle the Quidditch World Cup paperwork after having shelved it the week before (_really, wasn't it just last year? What an enormous nightmare_), Hermione's office door flew open and the doorknob lodged itself in the wall. Harry Potter stood in the doorway, looking positively murderous.

"Some people knock, Potter," Hermione shouted from the floor.

"Some people don't hire Death Eaters for prominent Ministry positions, but here we are."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and hauled herself off the floor. Walking over barefoot, she jabbed a finger into Harry's sternum. Harry's green eyes met her amber ones and she was surprised to see that his eyes were cold.

"Auror Potter, you would do well to remember who you are speaking to. I realize that I would technically report to you if I were still a full-time Auror. However, as Minister, _you_ report to _me_. As such, I invite you to change your tone. If you have a sensitive matter to discuss with me, please take a seat in my office."

Harry pushed past her and threw himself into the same seat Malfoy had occupied earlier that day. He crossed his arms, and for a moment, Hermione saw a glimpse of the boy who pouted if the Great Hall didn't have treacle tart for dinner. Hermione settled herself at her desk and summoned a bit of parchment and a charmed quill to take notes. She steepled her fingers together and pointed them at Harry, who huffed.

"Look, Hermione. I heard about Malfoy."

"What _exactly_ did you hear?"

Harry pushed his glasses to the top of his head and rubbed his face. _God, we're getting old_, Hermione thought to herself. _Do I look that exhausted too?_

"I heard that you hired him to be Potions Master. Is that true?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Yes, that is correct. He applied for the position and I began my search last week. We had an informal interview and a formal interview, and I feel he is the best fit for the position. Though I will add that I do not believe I need to justify my decisions as Minister to you."

"And his history as a Death Eater had no bearing at all on your decision?" Harry gritted his teeth, evidently trying to stifle his temper.

Hermione failed at stifling hers. "No, Harry, I'm a complete idiot and forgot all of my Auror training as soon as I saw those ferrety features and unnatural hair. He just oozes charm from every orifice and I was blinded into forgetting how much of a git he was in school! Also completely blocked out the torture I experienced on his drawing room floor, so naturally I let him waltz right in and _Imperius_ me into getting the job for himself."

Harry's face reddened ever so slightly and he looked suitably chastised. Hermione felt a slight twinge of guilt, but didn't let it slow her down.

"And how the bloody fuck did you find out anyway?"

"Uh, well," Harry stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck now. "I heard it from Gin, who heard it from Ron, who had gotten it from Bill through Fleur. Not sure where Fleur heard though. Or, maybe, uh…"

Harry floundered under Hermione's withering gaze.

"I guess maybe Gabrielle could have told her. You really trust your staff with that information?"

Hermione nearly growled. "Oh yes, I'm also an idiot in that regard. So idiotic that I forgot I'm an idiot. She walked in on us! I didn't think anyone would be here so early and I didn't ward the door!"

"Gabrielle walked in on you and the Ferret going at it?" Harry yelped.

Hermione's head fell to the desk with a _clunk_. She raised it slightly and let it fall again, and then began beating her fists on the desk. Harry edged his chair away and grasped his wand, just in case. She lifted her head and took a deep breath.

"No," Hermione replied with incredible patience. "Gabrielle came into my office as we were finishing the interview. I had intended for him to leave before I made any announcements about the position so I could do damage control before he begins."

"Hermione, we're tracking threats of a revolution. Ten year anniversary and everything? What if he just applied for the position so he can get closer to you and infiltrate the Ministry as an inside job?"

Harry looked so earnestly at her that Hermione almost caved.

"I highly doubt that Malfoy went through the stress of applying, sitting through two interviews with me, and accepting the job just to overthrow the Ministry as soon as he got in."

Her voice softened. "I really think he's changed. He's broken like the rest of us, but he's healing. He wants to help people. Actually, he wanted to be a Healer, but didn't think anyone would consent to a Malfoy treating them directly. Don't make that face, I know you're scheming something."

"What if," Harry started slowly. "What if you got close to him first? What if – no, hear me out! What if you pretended to like him? Get into his good graces, spend some time together outside of work, find out what makes him tick. Then kick in your training and figure out what he's hiding."

"Or what," Hermione muttered.

"Or we arrest him on the spot and hold him until we find out what he's planning."

"Or I _try_ it, and we see where I get. But I get final say when to pull the plug."

Harry nodded his assent and stood, opening his arms for a hug.

"I'm sorry to doubt you. I just can't have the Ministry being questioned for where its loyalties lie, you know? Come 'round for dinner this week, Gin and I miss you."

Hermione waved him off impatiently. "I'll pick a day later this week. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to fire Gabrielle for her security breach. All for the best anyway, she can't make tea to save her life."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I've been forgetting, but here's my disclaimer for the whole story that I don't own anything except the plot, and also I don't have a beta, so any continuity issues or mistakes are mine (and I'd be open to y'all pointing them out so I can fix them!). Kind of a set-up chapter, but I hope it gets more interesting as we move forward! Stay healthy, stay safe!


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